The Lord of the Final Destination
by Astariel
Summary: Lord of the Rings meets Final Destination--what more is there to say!


The Lord of the Final Destination A warped mess between FD2 and TTT  
  
"AGGGGH!" Legolas woke up, more panicked than he had been since Boromir had first grabbed his ass. Sweat clung to his pale skin, and saturated his alarmingly tight-spandex. "WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE!" he wailed.  
  
"HOLY VALA! "Oh spiritual One" is actually being irrational!" yawned Merry, who had bolted upright after the elfs first scream.  
  
"Are you alright, Legolas?" asked the ever-compassionate Aragorn.  
  
"WHAT IN THE HOLY NAME OF MORRRRIA!" roared Gimli, now wide awake, eyes darting to the source of the noise.  
  
"It was only Legolas having a dream, Gim," said Pippin, before Gimli could lop anyones head off with his axe.  
  
"Nothing so affects an elf, lest it be of great signifigance," noted Gandalf, who also has risen groggily.  
  
Legolas, by now, had reobtained his usual perfection, with no trace of distress whatsoever. "I have dreamt of things to come, I dreamt them as they are to occur! It felt more real than the most explicit of reality, as if my very soul was--"  
  
"--Stop being poetic for a damn minute, and just tell us what you drrrrreamed!"  
  
Legolas pouted at the dwarfs crude remark, and continued. "I saw the fate of each and every one of us. We will all perish beneath the fearsome bane of premature decease..."  
  
The hobbits stared blankly at each other, they had been lost ever since Legolas had given his first scream..  
  
"What he means," said the wise Gandalf, "is that he has seen each of our deaths."  
  
"Oh." said Pippin in sudden realization. "Well, that's nice. Back to bed then."  
  
"NO YOU FOOL!" roared Boromir, "we must clearly stay up all night and wonder how we are each going to kick the bucket!"  
  
"If Sam is cooking again tomorrow......that will spare you the guessing game," added Frodo, helpfully. "Can't we all just sleep?"  
  
"Why will you not hearken to me with all due sobriety?" whined Legolas in exasperation.  
  
"Why will you not speak normal english, bagfruits!" yawned Merry.  
  
"I think we should let him speak about his experience for many unecessary hours, after all his talking, our deaths will not seem so painful," offered Aragorn helpfully.  
  
"WHY DOES NO ONE CARE!?" yelled Legolas.  
  
"Well, considaring I'm going to play pincushion for Orcs anyways, there's no suprise in this for me," replied Boromir.  
  
"Bedtime stories!" chimed in Merry, "tell me how Sam is going to die!"  
  
"Yes, please do!" said Pippin, "I like stories with happy endings!"  
  
"FINE!" snapped, the elf, "DIE! DIE THE LOT OF YOU! I'm going to get my beauty sleep now, so good riddance!"  
  
"I need my beauty sleep too..." yawned Gimli.  
  
"Technically speaking, you need beauty to have 'beauty sleep' bushy brows," snickered Merry.  
  
With that insult, Gimli chopped the hobbits head off, and went back to sleep.  
  
"Well, that's one down," remarked Aragorn, "and thank Vala, he was getting annoying too!"  
  
--------  
  
The next morning, the slightly reduced fellowship set off once again towards Moria. No one seemed worse for wear, and nobody showed the slightest curiosity nor concern towards their obviously impending doom.  
  
"I still don't understand why none of you care about my dream!" whined Legolas.  
  
"Look," said Frodo, stopping and facing the elf. "See that ominous land of death yonder? We're headed THERE. Any moron with a shred of common sense knows that they arn't going to pay Sauron a friendly visit and plant petunias in the Shire the next day. We KNOW we are going to die, and frankly, it doesn't matter whether we know how or not!"  
  
Legolas sniffed indignantly.  
  
The next departure was only moments away.  
  
"Frodo," said Boromir, with the same ease in which he might have asked for him to pass the butter, "The ring has corrupted me. Give it to me so that I may fall prey to the wicked dark lord and help him destroy Middle Earth. Give me your the ring."  
  
"SCREW YOU BAG NUTS!" yelled a moody Frodo, and with that, he drove Sting into the centre of the mans chest. Boromir died instantly. No one was in the mood to dig a grave so they merely threw him in a nearby boat and pushed his body over a waterfall.  
  
Gimli then dove into a lengthy expansion on Moria; a topic of which he never tired. Moria, Moria, Moria, it was all he ever talked about! Everyone was so darn sick of hearing about the dilapidated pile of rocks, they waited no longer than the second syllable of "Moria" to shut him up with multiple stab wounds.  
  
While bleeding, Gimli still rambled faithfully about Moria, until all the squirrells in the trees got angry and threw nuts at him. Then the deer trampled him, and the bears stomped on his head, and then Vala sent a lightening bolt and...........okay, you get the point.  
  
The Fellowship of Seven continued their trek. All was fine and no one was dying, dead or homicidally inclined.  
  
Then suddenely, Frodo fell, bent beneath the weight of his evil ring. "ARRHHHHH!" he wailed.  
  
"MR. FRODO!" cried the ever-concerned Sam, "are you alright!? Are you mortally wounded? Can I nurse you back to health, carry you across a desert of hot coals barefoot, or build a snowman in Mount Doom for you!"  
  
"Oh Sam," wailed Frodo, looking dramatically into his friends eyes.  
  
"Oh Frodo," Sam's eyes welled up with tears of compassion and worry.  
  
"Oh Sam," Frodo's eyes welled up with pain and agony.  
  
"Oh Frodo," Sam's mind fell into the depths of sorrow contemplating his masters pain, "what has befallen!" he finally asked.  
  
"I...I....I..." Frodo stuttered.  
  
Sam burst into tears.  
  
"....I broke a nail in my fall!" blubbered Frodo.  
  
Sam's heart gave a leap, and he dropped dead in horror. His master had been seriously hurt!  
  
There was not enough earth in which to bury Sam, so they all used his tummy for a trampoline before continuing their journey to Mordor.  
  
They then came across a welcoming pool of fresh water. There was a slight rustling of brush, and Gollum then appeared out of no where to catch fish and sing. He didn't know that all the fish in the water were pirahnas, they all lept upon the gangly creature, impaling him with their sharp teeth. No longer did Gollum wish, to catch a fish. A very ironic ending for the fish-happy fruitcake.  
  
"Well, that was interesting. I guess he won't be back in time for the Return of the King after all!" noted Frodo.  
  
Legolas pranced over to the river where he stooped to ogle his reflection. So beautiful he was, and how well he knew it. He never passed up a chance to admire his handsome frame. The epitomy of beauty, and, though he refused to see it; conceit. He peered into the river, expecting to be graced by his beauteous reflection. Suddenly he let out a blood-chilling scream, and then proceeded to drop dead.  
  
"Huh?" sniffed Pippin, "the prophet left the building...but why?"  
  
Gandalf looked at the deceased elf and nodded. "He had a pimple on his forehead," he explained.  
  
"Ohhhhh,"  
  
Well, now there were only five left of the former nine. They resumed their pointless journey once again, only to be met with death and more death. Aragorn was the next to go. There was nothing fancy. No pimple, no broken nail on Frodo, just a simple angelic decease.  
  
Lights shone from heaven, and a chorus of angelic psalms rained upon the ranger, and he left Middle Earth with the shiniest halo ever. The noble man had to go in a spiritual and self-righteous way, of course, especially since he looked exactly as any actor portraying Jesus might.  
  
Frodo sighed. Death certainly was creative in selecting her victums. She chose many unique ways in which to draw innocents to her grasp. It was no suprise, however, to find Pippin gone next.  
  
They all took the trecherous route through Moria. Gimli was not there to bore them with it's history, thankfully. About a fortnight in, Pippin did the idiot thing of sending a rickety old skeleton flying down a well, alerting all Orcs in proximity.  
  
"FOOL OF A TOOK!" roared Gandalf, "throw yourself in next time, and rid us of your stupidity!"  
  
"Oh, okay!" said Pippin cheerfully and lept headfirst into the deep well.  
  
"Damn, I wanted to throw him in first," muttered Gandalf. "Oh well, lets go play with the Balrog now!"  
  
"Okay!" Frodo chirped, and they all skipped merrily off.  
  
Gandalf stepped on his robe halfway across the bridge and fell to his death, even before the Balrog appeared. This provided a good laugh for about an hour, and in this amount of time, the Balrog lept at them and ate Frodo.  
  
Well, that kills em all off now doesn't it? Okay, well just for kicks, Arwen died from evil-elf disease and Saruman died of an inferiority complex. Have a nice day. This was a long boring rambling of my insanity. Do flame, or be nice, or whatever. ~Shahbobba~ 


End file.
